


A Shift In Shapes Has Come Around

by disarm_d



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco, The Like
Genre: F/F, First Time, High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-07
Updated: 2011-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-15 05:58:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disarm_d/pseuds/disarm_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tennessee's just a little worried about the whole being-the-old-girl-Z-has-dated thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Shift In Shapes Has Come Around

**Author's Note:**

  * For [boweryd](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=boweryd).



> My [](http://community.livejournal.com/bandomstuffsit/profile)[**bandomstuffsit**](http://community.livejournal.com/bandomstuffsit/) story for [](http://boweryd.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://boweryd.livejournal.com/)**boweryd**!  
>  I was all set to write a story about someone giving birth to a litter of puppies, but then my person was all, No, dont write that, I want to thwart your creative process. So my creative process was thwarted and I came up with this instead. Its high school-ish in that not everyone is actually in high school, and also an AU in all senses of the word because I played around with ages a little.
> 
> Many thanks to [](http://fictionalaspect.livejournal.com/profile)[**fictionalaspect**](http://fictionalaspect.livejournal.com/) for the encouragement while I was writing this and to [](http://octette.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://octette.livejournal.com/)**octette** for the beta! ♥
> 
> Title and cut-tag from In The End by The Like.

**Thursday Afternoon**

“Stop it,” Tennessee says, ignoring the little squealing sound that just came out of her mouth. “Z, oh my lord, Z, I am so serious right now, you need to stop that.”

“My feet are cold,” Z says, twisting into an honest to god pretzel shape just so that she can poke her cold, cold toes between Tennessee’s thighs and, gah, tickle.

“Z, stoppit, no tickling.”

“Warm me up,” Z says, looking up at Tennessee through her thick fringe of false eyelashes. Even though they’ve been rolling around in bed for the last hour -- just rolling, no... funny business -- her lips are still red and her eyes are still all dark with the perfect smoky eye makeup, and it’s really not fair that she still looks like this when they’ve got another five minutes before Z has to get back to school, and also Tennessee has a very serious plan to take things slow. So slow. Even slower than, like, five or ten or however many years of friendship before finally, _finally_ something more.

Which is why the slow thing is important.

And Z needs to not be putting _anything_ between Tennessee’s thighs.

“Put on socks,” Tennessee says. “The purple striped ones.”

“They’re in the wash, I think.”

“But they’d match your skirt. Are the grey ones clean?”

“Oh my god,” Z says, flopping against Tennessee’s side and giggling. “I’m just going back to school. You don’t have to plan my whole outfit.”

Tennessee likes picking out clothes for Z, but all of a sudden, she has this thought that maybe she’s being the creepy overbearing girlfriend who’s overly invested in socks. She stares up at the ceiling and has a little panic while Z noses her way up until her face is buried in Tennessee’s neck. It’s distracting. It’s also really hard to figure out this whole girlfriend thing. Obsessive clothes-picking-out-ing will be new for Z, who until now has dated only guys. And then that time when she didn’t actually date Charlotte but it sure looked like a breakup when their friendship ended.

The point is that Ryan wasn’t some crazy sock-obsessed boyfriend. Tennessee can only assume, anyway, given that Ryan wasn’t able to put his own outfits together. She can’t imagine that he spent much time telling Z what to wear, giving that Z always looked like some super hot, intentionally fashionable woman, while Ryan looked like someone’s colourblind uncle. And Tennessee doesn’t even mean that in a cruel way, because of how she’s with Z, and Ryan’s just the ex-boyfriend, and Tennessee’s totally not a jealous person. She’s just a little concerned with the being-the-only-girl-Z-has-dated thing.

“You can wear whatever socks you want,” Tennessee says.

“Thanks,” Z says, opening her mouth against Tennessee’s collarbone.

She runs her bare foot up Tennessee’s calf, and Tennessee very causally doesn’t press her thighs together. They have _got_ to start hanging out in places that are not a bed.

\--

 _when r you going to get here i already had 2 cups of coffee,_ Pete texts while Brendon’s in the middle of English class. Luckily, Brendon’s phone is on silent, and -- also luckily -- he’s been flipping it between his palms for the last sixteen minutes because otherwise he wouldn’t have noticed the incoming text.

 _We had plans?_ he texts back.

_i was thinking about how i wanted to see you_

_Thats not the same as plans._

_im at the sbux_

_I’m in class!_

_i know thats why i’m at this one instead of the one by my house_

Brendon knows what everyone says about university -- that it’s hard and stuff -- but from what he can tell, being a university student means having a whole lot of time to go to coffee shops and send texts to people who are actually in school.

 _I’ll be there in 45_ , Brendon sends, because his last class is history and Mr. Henderson never takes attendance.

He puts his phone on his desk, hopefully blocked by his textbook, and watches to see if it’ll light up again. He feels kind of like. Giddy. About the whole thing. Because Pete’s in college, and by all rights he should have been too cool to hang out with Brendon even when they were both in high school, but definitely now that he’s graduated -- and instead he’s waiting for Brendon to finish class so that they can hang out. Even though Brendon doesn’t get his braces off for another two weeks and his parents wouldn’t let him get contact lenses until the beginning of _this year_ , so he’s been going around with fucking coke bottles this whole time.

Which, okay, Brendon can sing pretty well and he’s good at piano after however many hundreds of years of piano lessons and the mean old lady who slapped his knuckles every time his posture was off. And he’s picked up guitar pretty well, even if all he knows how to play right now are Sublime songs. Playing percussion in band doesn’t really count for anything, but he has fun pretending that it counts as a drumline when it’s just him and Spencer going back and forth on their snares.

So Brendon’s got some music stuff, and it’s not totally impossible to imagine why Pete would want to have him around, given that Pete never sleeps and is able to use all those extra hours hunting down people who like making music. It’s just that Brendon’s still a little bit surprised every time Pete texts _him_.

Class ends and Brendon walks to his locker, managing to catch Z’s eye as he passes her in the hallway.

“Can you take notes for me in history?” Brendon asks.

“Do you have the notes from English?” Z asks. Her eyelashes are coming unglued at the corner of her eye just a little bit, but her lipstick looks freshly applied.

“Yeah,” Brendon says, “I’ll trade you. We were just talking about A Modest Proposal, though. It’s probably nothing you don’t already know.” Brendon’s, like, totally adequate at English, but Z reads for _fun_.

“Great,” Z says. While she smooths her hair behind her ear, the collar of her shirt slides down, exposing a long line of collarbone dotted with light purple splotches.

“You’ve got a little -- “ Brendon says. Z raises her eyebrow and Brendon finishes, “Hickeys.”

Z ducks her head and gives the floor a private grin before looking up and says, “Yeah.” She makes no move to pull her shirt back up.

“We can trade in homeroom,” Brendon says, ignoring the way his face is starting to heat. “Notes. Tomorrow.”

“Notes tomorrow,” Z agrees and ducks into her classroom.

Brendon’s either so gay that his brain short-circuits at the thought of two girls together, or not gay enough to avoid having problems talking to girls. Either way, he’s late to meet Pete.

\--

**Friday Night**

“Put on your dancing shoes,” Pete says, walking into Brendon’s bedroom.

Brendon was not expecting company, so he’s glad that all that Pete walked in on was some vigorous air guitaring to ”Any Way You Want It” instead of... something more embarrassing than that, Brendon’s not sure. It would be nice if people ever knocked, is the main thing. Brendon feels like his parents _should_ hate Pete, but somehow they totally _don’t_ , which is weird. Pete should still have enough sense to knock. Except that he’s got this internal magnet that’s attracted to other people’s embarrassing situations. Not even in a mean way, like he’s seeking out stuff so that he can laugh. Just that he somehow always manages to catch people at their worst, but he does it in this way that makes it seem like it’s actually _okay_.

Slamming around his bedroom while Journey blares is not Brendon’s worst.

“Are we going dancing?” Brendon asks.

“There could definitely be dancing involved.”

“Would we be the only ones dancing?” Brendon doesn’t have a problem with that, but he likes to know ahead of time so he can make it look more like he’s dancing like a dumbass on _purpose_

“Laughter is just your diaphragm dancing. Come on, little dude, let’s go.”

\--

Tennessee had this really awesome date planned where they were going to go for dinner and catch a show, and Tennessee knows the guy who’s DJing after, so they’d be able to get in no problem. It seemed like a good idea to invite Z over to get ready except that Tennessee’s parents aren’t home and Z brought over a whole backpack full of clothing options and she doesn’t have a problem changing _right in front of Tennessee_ and then there was the tight, _tight_ , white dress with the red bows around the collar and Z smoothed her hands over her hips and said, “Hmm, can’t wear underwear with this,” and then she just _pulled them off_ and turned around so that Tennessee could see her silhouette.

And now they’re making out on the bed and Tennessee is, like, so incredibly aware that Z is not wearing any underwear. She tries to keep her hands about Z’s waist, but Z does this thing where she wraps her leg around Tennessee’s waist and it’s all this bare skin and Tennessee was just planning on touching her leg -- legs are totally innocent! -- but the tight, _tight_ white dress with the red bows around the collar is also short -- like, really short -- and Tennessee’s hand slides right up Z’s thigh without Tennessee even _meaning to_. She fingers the hem of the dress and Z squirms in this incredibly unhelpful way that makes her dress slide further up, and even if Z’s forgotten about the no-underwear situation, Tennessee has _not_.

It is not fair for one person to be so hot. Tennessee has _plans_.

“Okay,” Tennessee says, and then again, “ _okay_ ,” which comes out breathy because Z moves from kissing Tennessee’s mouth to kissing down her neck.

Tennessee really needs to take her hand off Z’s thigh.

“We’ve got to _go_ ,” she says. “You need to -- this needs to not be happening.”

“So we miss our reservation,” Z says. “It doesn’t matter.”

She twists around until Tennessee’s on her back and Z’s straddling her. She’s still not wearing underwear.

“Oh my lord,” Tennessee says. Z leans down for another kiss and while she does wicked things with her tongue, Tennessee’s fingers slide under the hem of Z’s dress.

“Exactly,” Z says, when they pause for a second to breathe. She braces herself on one elbow so they’re still close enough to kiss, and uses her free hand to cup Tennessee’s breast.

“This is exactly the opposite of my plan,” Tennessee says, after she finishes gasping.

“What was your plan?” Z asks.

“Slower,” Tennessee says, “so much slower.” And even though Z’s brushing her thumb back and forth across Tennessee’s nipple in this way that makes Tennessee wish desperately there was something between her legs that she could rub against, Tennessee thinks of the plan, which was really a very good plan, and she manages to remove her hands from Z’s ass.

“Hey,” Z says.

“Slow,” Tennessee says.

“We’ve been making out for like an hour,” Z says. “How much slower do we have to be?” Z’s still laying on top of Tennessee, her legs spread as she leans in close and says, “I’m not wearing any underwear. Do you know how easy it would be to --”

“Gahh,” Tennessee says, and rolls off the bed, narrowly avoiding pulling Z down with her.

“Tennessee,” Z says, peering over the edge of the bed where she’s now lying face down. “What are you doing?”

“Just taking a little break,” Tennessee says. She closes her eyes and very sternly tries to convince her body not to be turned on anymore.

“I feel like we might be working to counter purposes here,” Z says.

Tennessee sighs. She’s had a crush on Z for pretty much ever, and now they’re actually together and they can get dressed up and go on dates and then she gets to kiss Z goodnight and it’s just as awesome as Tennessee hoped it would be. And probably sex with Z would be the most awesome of all, except that it’s one thing for them make out and a whole other thing to have lesbian sex. Kissing girls isn’t _that_ different from kissing boys, but sex _would_ be different, and what if Z realizes that she’s not actually into girls when faced with a vagina? And then not only would there not be sex, but there wouldn’t be any dating either and that would suck. Tennessee really likes the dating.

“I’m just, ah, hungry,” Tennessee says, pushing herself off the floor and straightening her skirt. “For supper. Hungry for eating supper, so. We should really get going.”

Z makes a frustrated sound and thumps her head back onto the bed. She makes no effort to pull her dress down and since she continues to not be wearing any underwear, Tennessee says, “I’ll wait for you downstairs,” and tries to make it look like she’s not scurrying out of the room.

\--

Brendon doesn’t know anyone here, but Pete keeps walking him around the room and introducing him to new people, and even though Pete pops off to say hi to someone else, he always comes back before Brendon starts feeling awkward.

A _college party_ , and Brendon’s totally rocking it.

Pete comes up beside Brendon. “You need another drink,” he says, circling his fingers around Brendon’s wrist and giving a tug. When Brendon starts following after him, Pete slides his palm down and holds Brendon’s hand instead. Brendon’s had enough to drink that he doesn’t even worry about his palm being sweaty.

There’s a keg in the kitchen and Brendon fills his plastic red cup up and it’s just like every stereotype Brendon had in his head about college parties -- except that this one he’s actually _invited to_.

“You drinking?” Brendon asks.

Pete says, “Eh,” and then drapes one arm across Brendon’s shoulders, leaning in and using his other hand to tip Brendon’s cup back, taking a sip. He ducks his head into Brendon’s neck, smacks his lips and says, “Sure.”

Brendon’s breath catches and he covers it by taking a sip himself.

“Come on,” Pete says. “Let’s find somewhere to sit.”

There’s another room past the bathrooms -- probably someone’s bedroom, but instead of a bed, there’s a futon and it’s folded up. There are other people in the room, so it’s not _weird_ for them to be in someone else’s bedroom, especially because Pete probably knows the person anyway. Pete knows everyone.

There’s just enough open space on the futon for the two of them to fit if they squish. Brendon sets his beer on the floor and doesn’t hurry to pick it back up again. He’s had a couple of drinks, but not too much. Hanging out with Pete is enough of a rush without adding alcohol to the mix.

“You having fun?” Pete asks, twisting his body around so that he’s facing Brendon. One of his legs is folded and he’s sitting on his hip. They’re pressed together, way too close to comfortably hold a conversation.

Brendon says, “Yeah,” and lifts his head. Pete’s face is right there. Brendon’s heart is throwing itself at his rib cage, but when Pete leans in for a kiss, it’s not a surprise. It’s unbelievable and mindblowing and a whole lot of _what the fuck, is this actually happening_ and seriously, that’s Pete’s tongue.

Brendon exhales through his nose so that he doesn’t have to break the kiss. His head is spinning and taking a deep breath seems like it might be a good idea, but then Pete cups Brendon’s jaw and kisses him a little deeper and who cares about breathing anyway.

Pete’s about the same size as Brendon and it’s weird how similar his body feels. Like Brendon’s hands know where to go and what he’s going to find, even though he’s never kissed Pete before. Brendon spends more time than he would like to admit thinking about Pete, but that’s mostly normal. Pete’s a hard guy to figure out. Brendon never _really_ really knows what’s going on with Pete. Even now -- Pete’s at a college party where he knows everyone and instead he’s here making out with _Brendon_. Like maybe he forgot how many other options he has.

A lot. A _lot_ of other options.

Pete’s shirt slides up and Brendon touches his fingers to the tattoo low on Pete’s stomach. Brendon wants to put his mouth on the ink and then he wants to slide down and suck Pete’s dick. This _want_ circles up and sets its teeth into Brendon’s gut. It feels something like guilt, sitting on the couch with Pete, slick tongues sliding together as the rest of the party buzzes somewhere off in the distance. There are other people in the room with them. Pete isn’t doing anything other than kissing Brendon with more tongue and teeth than Brendon’s used to -- the handful of times that he’s actually done this before -- and running his fingers down the back of Brendon’s neck.

Brendon tries to enjoy it for what it is instead of thinking about how much more he wants.

\--

“Walk me inside,” Z says when Tennessee pulls into her driveway. “My parents are gone for the weekend.”

Which maybe should have been a warning sign, but they’d spent hours dancing together and Tennessee's body has this low throb from the bass of the music and the feel of Z’s hips under her hands as they moved together. As far as she knows, Z still isn’t wearing underwear.

“So,” Z says, falling backward onto her bed and lifting her feet. Tennessee holds one of Z’s ankles and starts unzipping her boot. “Tonight was fun.”

“Yeah,” Tennessee says, pulling off one boot and moving onto the other one.

“You want to sleep over tonight?”

“Umm.”

“It’s late. You don’t want to have to drive home.”

Tennessee swallows hard and then nods. She doesn’t want to drive home, no matter how dangerous _sleeping over_ sounds. Dangerous, but also awesome. Man, this whole business of being girlfriends is hard to figure out. Tennessee’s slept over at Z’s house a million times before. It’s just that all the other times, Z didn’t strip out of her dress -- no underwear! Still no underwear! -- and slide into this soft floaty nightie thing that makes Tennessee’s palms itch. Z climbs into bed and looks up at Tennessee with huge eyes. She’s still wearing her eye makeup.

Tennessee didn’t bring anything to change into. She hesitates for a moment, but crawling into bed with Z sounds really good right now, so she squares her shoulders and pulls off her clothes. It’s stupid to worry, but Tennessee has this softness around her waist that Z never has. Her underwear cuts in a little around her hips and Tennessee doesn’t _care_ and she doesn’t think that Z will care, but she still hurries to slide under the covers. Z rolls towards her immediately, sliding her hands up Tennessee’s side and pulling her close. Tennessee slides her leg between Z’s thighs and there’s so much skin, bare skin, and the hot press of Z’s mouth as they rock together.

“It’s late,” Tennessee whispers when they pull apart from the kiss.

“Yeah,” Z agrees, throwing her leg across Tennessee’s hips.

And against all odds, with her arms full of naked girl skin, Tennessee manages to fall asleep.

\--

Brendon thought maybe Pete was joking about walking him home, but all of the sudden they’re in front of Brendon’s house and Pete’s grinning at him, his teeth looking very white under the glow of the streetlight.

“This is me,” Brendon says. He wants to pull his keys out of his pocket just so he’ll have something to do with his hands.

“You’re coming tomorrow, right?” Pete asks.

It’s some kind of jam session after hours at this bar that Pete’s friend manages or something like that -- Brendon doesn’t know but it sounds _awesome_. Probably even worth the awkwardness of seeing Pete again after what happened tonight.

“Yeah,” Brendon says. “See ya.” And then he’s not sure what to do, so he turns on his heel and sprints up his driveway to the front door, only pausing for a moment to look back as he turns the key in the lock. Pete’s still standing there and Brendon trips over his own feet as he tumbles into the house.

He lands on the floor and bites his lip, hoping the sound didn’t wake his parents up. Then he bites his lip again because Jesus fucking Christ, how is he actually this awkward?

\--

**Saturday Morning**

Tennessee wakes to Z’s fingers trailing over her stomach. It kind of tickles, so she squirms, but not enough to push Z away.

“Morning,” Z says, and her voice is ever raspier than usual. It makes Tennessee want to bite her neck but that would involve moving, so she settles for opening her mouth on Z’s shoulder and pressing her teeth down gently.

Z hums and wraps her arm around Tennessee’s shoulders, pulling her in closer.

Tennessee doesn’t want to be all sappy or whatever, but they’ve both got morning breath and neither of them want to stop kissing, so that’s _got_ to mean something.

Even so, when Z slides her hand all the way down Tennessee’s back to tuck her fingers under the hem of Tennessee’s underwear, Tennessee pulls away.

“Breakfast?” she asks, trying to sound enthusiastic.

“Tennessee,” Z grumbles. Her fingers are very distracting, so Tennessee makes the most reasonable decision and rolls off the bed again. This time she bounces back up quickly, wishing she were wearing more than just her bra and underwear.

“Breakfast,” she says again.

Z kicks away the comforters and stands, giving Tennessee very serious eyes.

“Tennessee, if you’re a never-nude, you should just tell me. Because either way I’m going to die of blue balls, but at least this way I’ll die knowing.”

“Oh my lord,” Tennessee says.

“I’m not judging. Just asking. With the friendly curiosity of someone who is going to need some alone time very soon and wants to make her speedy escape in the least awkward way possible.”

“I’m not a never-nude. What do you even -- you’ve seen me naked!”

“I’ve never seen you nude,” Z says. “Hence--”

“I’m not a never-nude!”

“Is it me?” Z asks. “If you’re rethinking this whole dating thing, than you should just tell me. I know it’s weird because we were friends and maybe you realized that you don’t actually see me like that and you’re all friendly and stuff and don’t want to hurt my feelings, but it’s better to just get it over with instead of trying to force yourself to feel something that you just don’t... feel,” Z says. “In your pants.”

Tennessee stares. “Are you a crazy person? Have I gone all of these years without realizing that you’re a complete and utter loon?”

“You really hadn’t noticed?” Z asks.

“Well. But also, Z, what the fuck? Why would you ever think that?”

“You’re not into the sexy naked times. You’re nudity averse. Either it’s something about you -- never-nude! -- or it’s something about me.”

“Or it’s something about _me_ ,” Tennessee says.

“... Yes. That is what I said.”

“No,” Tennessee says. “I mean.” She smooths her hand down the back of her hair. Talking is awkward. There really is no delicate way of putting it, so Tennessee just goes with, “Vaginas.”

“Yes,” Z agrees. “That is what we’re working towards. I’m not trying to, like, pressure you or anything. I promise I will still respect you in the morning.”

Tennessee gnaws on her thumbnail. “It’s just that you’ve only ever dated guys and, you know. Vaginas.”

“You’re worried that I won’t be any good?” Z asks, her eyebrows furling. “Because you can tell me what you like. I’m totally open to direction.”

“No!” Tennessee says. “I mean, sure, but that’s not even -- I just don’t want you to remember suddenly that I don’t have a penis and then you’ll be all, ‘This is not what I was hoping it would be,’ and then it will be awkward.” Things are pretty awkward right now. “More awkward.”

“Umm, I’ve been trying to get in your pants for _weeks_ now. Has it somehow escaped your attention that I am, in fact, very interested in your vagina?”

Tennessee flaps her hand around.

“Also, hello, it’s not like I’ve only ever been with guys.”

“Hello, yes, it’s totally like you’ve only ever been with guys. Since you’ve only ever been with guys.”

“You’ve seen me making out with girls before.”

“As a _joke_.”

“As foreplay,” Z corrects.

“Wait, what?”

“Sexy kissing,” Z says, with a serious nod of her head.

“Are you sure?” Tennessee asks.

“Yes,” Z says.

“I always thought you were, you know. Joking.”

“So you said,” Z says. “Which makes me feel suddenly insecure about my technique.”

“You’re a very good kisser,” Tennessee says.

“Except that it looks like a _joke_.”

“I don’t know,” Tennessee says, feeling rather like the ground beneath her feet has moved. “Are you really sure?”

“Sure about what?”

“That this is what you want?” Tennessee dips her head and uses her bangs to cover her eyes. “I’m kind of smitten. I don’t want you to change your mind. We were Just Friends for a long time.”

Z steps up close and wraps her arms around Tennessee, clasping her hands at the small of Tennessee’s back.

“I’m super sure,” she says. “No take backs.”

“Okay,” Tennessee. And then she doesn’t say anything else because it turns out that making out is even _more_ fun when she doesn’t have to worry about when she’s going to put a halt on things. Sexy things, like the way Z slides her hand under Tennessee’s bra and does this thing with her fingers and Tennessee’s nipple. Tennessee didn’t even know that she _liked_ having her breasts played with, because when she tried it on her own it was always like, whatever. Not that great. But now Z is doing this thing with her fingers and Tennessee’s legs are starting to shake.

It would be better for her if they weren’t standing up anymore, so she leads Z backwards to the bed, trying not to dislodge Z’s hand in the process. She wants to lay down, but she also doesn’t want the nipple thing to stop.

“Hey, so I can take off your bra, right?” Z asks.

“Yes,” Tennessee says, and then strips off the bra herself, just to help Z out.

Z beams. She’s got last night’s make up on and it shouldn’t look this good but somehow it really, really _does_. Tennessee kisses her hard and then uses Z’s mouth to muffle the sound she makes when Z’s hands return to her nipples.

It’s easy after that. Or, not _easy_ easy because Z’s floaty nightie gets all twisted when Tennessee tries to pull it off and it takes them a long minute to get it over Z’s head but after that it’s all warm skin and getting to touch Z wherever she wants, and Tennessee is really happy that she doesn’t have to worry about keeping her vagina away from Z any longer.

Z also seems happy about the fact when she scoots down the bed, pressing her fingers to Tennessee's thighs until Tennessee spreads her legs. It's still kind of weird, almost, just that little bit of shyness that Tennessee can never quite ignore. But Z just gives her the dirtiest grin and lowers her head.

The thing about oral sex is that Tennessee has technically never received it before. Or, well, technically this one time her ex-girlfriend tried for like half a second, but it tickled and Tennessee wiggled away and then that was the end of that. So, maybe technically she has received it, but _not_ , and now Z is licking in this very purposeful way, like she knows what she’s doing better than Tennessee does. Tennessee can hardly manage to breathe right now. Her legs are shaking even worse than they were before. She’s not sure why she thought it tickled that other time, because right now it feels like, like, something with, um. “Oh my lord,” Tennessee whispers to herself.

Z slips her finger inside, which is so considerate because now Tennessee has something to clench around. Tennessee rocks up and pushes down against the finger and everything is so soft and squirmy and lovely. It was a poor life decision to stop Z from doing this. Z should never stop doing this. Tennessee just wants to stay on this bed forever and have all of the sex with Z.

She’s, like, close, so close, holy crap so close, she’s actually going to die, and it feels so good but she just needs, like. Oh god, oh god, and it’s really rude, so she’ll have to remember to apologize later, but she lets go of her handful of sheets and tangles her fingers in Z’s hair and pulls her in closer.

Tennessee knows she needs to ease up, but Z’s hair is so short that it’s hard to get a grip unless she’s kind of pulling, and she just needs one more second, oh god, Z’s _mouth_. Tennessee doesn’t know if she’s even going to survive an orgasm if just the build up feels like _this_ , but then it wells up and pushes out, and it’s not even like that push over the edge, it’s like being swallowed whole.

\--

**Saturday Night**

Brendon touches his fingers to his mouth and leans back against the wall of his bedroom, crushing the edge of a poster with his shoulder. He doesn’t even care. Does kissing the same person twice mean it’s not an accident? Does it mean it was a coincidence? Does it mean that Pete’s going to think he’s some creepy high school stalker? But Pete’s the one who keeps inviting him out. Is this just something that people in college _do_? Brendon doesn’t know a whole lot about being a college student, but maybe once people graduate from high school they spend a whole lot of time making out with everyone they know.

As if Brendon wasn’t already excited to graduate from high school.

Except that Pete dated Ashlee, and why wouldn’t he be kissing all of the _girls_ that he knows? Pete’s got to know that Brendon’s gay. Surely he would also know what he’s giving Brendon the wrong idea. But maybe he doesn’t think that Brendon would get any ideas, because people in college just go around kissing people and it’s not a big deal that two nights in a row they ended up pressed together on someone else’s shitty couch. Pete kisses with a lot of tongue and Brendon likes it way more than he should.

Brendon tips his head back and the poster makes a sad crinkling sound.

\--

**Monday Morning**

Brendon spends the rest of the weekend very quietly freaking out. The freaking out is noisy inside of his head, but since he doesn’t say anything out loud, it counts as a quiet freak out.

He’s late arriving to school and almost walks into Z, who’s leaning through a car window so that she can keep kissing her girlfriend goodbye. Even though it’s snowing, Z’s wearing a dress that ends a couple of inches above her knee socks, and there’s a whole lot of bare leg as she bends over. Brendon turns bright red, slips on a patch of ice and lands on his ass.

The ground is covered in slush and Brendon’s pants are soaked by the time he stands up.

Z has removed her tongue from Tennessee's mouth and turned around. “That sucks,” she says.

“Yeah.”

“You have a change of clothes?”

“No,” Brendon says, sighing. Maybe it would be okay to just wait for the pants to dry, but they’re also dirty with that stupid salt they cover the parking lot with, and these are Brendon’s favorite pair of jeans and he doesn’t want them to be ruined. “Looks like I’ll be missing biology this morning.”

“You going home to change?”

“Yeah.”

“Tennessee will give you a ride,” Z offers, and then she herds Brendon into the car, closes the door, leans in through the window for one last kiss goodbye -- in Brendon’s _lap_ \-- and says, “Bye, guys!” and runs into school. She’s wearing three inch heels, but she doesn’t slip on the ice.

“Umm, hi,” Brendon says, looking over at Tennessee. They’ve hung out a lot of times before, but it’s never been just the two of them. “You don’t actually have to give me a ride if you need to be somewhere.”

“I don’t have class until 11,” Tennessee says and starts the car. “Where do you live?”

Tennessee hums along to the radio and grooves in her seat when they’re stopped at the red light, and just manages to be so completely relaxed and _cute_ that Brendon’s anxiety bubbles up in his chest and spills out of his mouth before he even knows what’s happening.

“You’re gay, right?” Brendon asks.

“Yup.”

“Okay, so, pretend that you’re you and--”

“Got it.”

“What?”

“I’m me, I’ve got it.”

“Okay, so, pretend that you’re you, and there’s this guy that you make out with sometimes.”

“I’m gay,” Tennessee says. “I don’t make out with guys.”

“That’s my point. Pretend that you’re making out with a guy. You’re straight above the waist.”

“Well that would make it awkward to have sex. The top half of me isn’t into it? How would that work, anyway? I don’t want to go into details here, but my top half is rather involved in all of the sex that my bottom half is having.”

“This is hypothetical,” says Brendon.

“But as I’m hypothetically me, all of me is gay.”

“No, the hypothetical part is that above the waist you’re straight.”

“I just don’t see this working out very well for me in the long run. I feel like that would probably result in no sex _ever_.”

“Okay, pretend that you’re gay all over, but also straight above the waist. You can have all of your super gay lesbian sex, but then also you want to make out with a guy sometimes.”

“Why would I want to make out with a guy when I’m having all of the super gay lesbian sex? That’s not even a hypothetical. I _am_ having the super gay lesbian sex. Well, Z’s not super gay. But the sex is, so I think that still counts.”

“It _is_ a hypothetical,” Brendon says. “Pretend that hypothetically you’re you, but you’re not actually _you_ , you’re a you that makes out with a guy sometimes, and neither of you are actually that drunk, but it totally happened more than once. Twice, which is more than once. And it was -- fine, and stuff, but you just came out of a relationship with the actual hottest girl _ever_ \--”

“So I _am_ gay all over!”

“Umm, yes. No, wait. You’re kind of gay but you’re also making out with a guy.”

“Is that why I broke up with this hottest girl ever? Because I feel like that’s really the problem with this whole situation. Why would I break up with Z?”

“It’s not Z.”

“You said the hottest girl.”

“It’s a hot girl who isn’t Z. Different hot. Much taller.”

“Then she wouldn’t be the hottest girl ever, now would she.”

“This other hot girl. A girl of momentous hotness who you dated but now you’re making out with a guy.”

“This story has holes,” Tennessee says.

“It’s a hypothetical! Not a story. Work with me here.”

“Brendon, are you making out with straight boys again?”

“Again? There is no _again_.”

“Z said that --”

“ _That never happened_.”

“It’s okay,” Tennessee says. “She wasn’t mad or anything.”

“I never made out with Ryan! It was just this stupid joke thing and it looked like we were making out, but it _never happened_.”

“Then why do you get all skirty every time he’s around?”

“He left my band! He and Z broke up! Are you kidding me with this, we had a whole plan of solidarity.”

“I thought that I was giving _you_ solidarity, too.”

“Why would I need solidarity when he and _Z_ broke up?”

“You looked a little like you were pining.”

“Pining? There was never pining. He left my band!”

“Oh, you only played together for like--”

“Two years,” Brendon says, his left eye starting to twitch the same way it always does when he thinks about it. “Only the whole entire time I’ve been in high school.”

“High school,” Tennessee says, with a lofty wave of her hand.

“You graduated like six months ago,” Brendon says.

Tennessee nods with great dignity.

“So if you’re not making out with Ryan, what’s the problem?” she asks.

“I don’t even know why you would think that was an option, but _anyway_ ,” Brendon says.

“Is it Spencer?”

“Oh my god, it’s not Spencer.”

“I’m just asking.”

“ _Spencer_?”

“You seem awfully close.”

“We’re in a band together!”

Tennessee gives him a look that says, _Duh_.

“Spencer has a girlfriend,” says Brendon.

“I know. We’ve already established that you’ve been making out with a straight dude.”

“It’s not Spencer.” Brendon tips his head back against the seat and feels his face flush even before he starts saying, “It’s Pete.” He feels guilty as soon has he says it, like Tennessee’s going to think he’s just making it all up. _Pete_. As if Pete would make out with Brendon, except that it totally happened, although Brendon’s becoming increasingly more convinced that he just hallucinated the whole thing the longer he spends obsessing over it.

“Pete?” Tennessee asks, like she doesn’t believe him, and of course she doesn’t believe him. Except then she says, “Pete’s not straight.” And, wait. What?

“What?”

“You made out with Pete?” Tennessee asks.

“Yeah.”

“And you’re worried... why?”

“Are we talking about the same Pete?”

“Five feet tall, belly button tattoo--”

“Umm, neither of those things are actually --”

“Used to date Ashlee--”

“Yeah,” Brendon says.

“And Mikey.”

“No,” Brendon says.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Pete dated Ashlee and Mikey,” Tennessee repeats. “What part of this is confusing to you?”

“Pete never dated Mikey.”

“Sure he did. In freshman year. You were off in elementary school being a baby or whatever.”

“You’re two years older than me!”

“So of course you can’t remember that far back.”

“Tennessee,” Brendon says. “Are you joking right now? Sometimes I can’t tell with you.”

“Really?”

“Well, no, not usually. But this one time I am not sure that we’re having the same conversation.”

“You made out with Pete,” Tennessee says. “Pete dated Mikey and then he dated Ashlee and now you’re making out. I’m hypothetically me and having all of the super gay lesbian sex. Which isn’t even a hypothetical; I’m not too sure what you were trying to do there. Apparently this time you were not, in fact, making out with a straight guy.”

“This time? I’ve still never kissed Ryan. Or Spencer!”

“You lot are rather codependent,” Tennessee says.

“ _It’s called being in a band_.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tennessee says. “Hey, is this your house?”

Brendon blinks. “How do you know where I live?”

“I’ve dropped you off before. Also you told me your address just then.”

“You...” Brendon says and then shakes his head. “Are you sure Pete’s not straight?”

“Pretty sure. Like, all of the sureness. Entirely sure, if you will. But I understand how that would be confusing for you, given all of your straight guy crushes. But now you can date Pete and that will be much less confusing.”

“Hasn’t been so far.”

Tennessee reaches over and pats Brendon on the shoulder. It’s, like, so incredible awkward but somehow she makes it work.

“Now you can have all of the super gay sex,” Tennessee says, brightly. “Have fun!”

“Yeah.” Brendon unbuckles his seat belt. “Umm, thanks. For the ride and stuff.”

“Leave the straight boys alone,” Tennessee says. “It’s much easier to be in band with people if you’re not making out with them.”

Brendon opens his mouth, closes it again and steps out of the car.

“Thanks,” he says again, holding his door open.

Tennessee grins and waits for Brendon to shut the door before putting the car back in drive.

Brendon pulls out his phone and texts Pete, _I fell in the snow. you want to help get me out of my pants?_

 _i was waiting 4 u to ask!!!!_ Pete replies. Then, _where ru i’ll be there in 5._

\--

“So how was your day?” Z asks, opening the door to Tennessee’s bedroom. “Tennessee?” she calls out.

“Just a moment,” Tennessee says. “I’m changing.”

“Where are you ?”

“In the bathroom.”

“Why are you changing in the bathroom?”

“I went shopping,” Tennessee says. “I was just, er, trying something out.”

“What are you trying?” Z asks. “I want to see.”

She walks to the bathroom and pushes the door open just as Tennessee’s reaching for the lock.

“Oh, drat,” Tennessee says. “Well, surprise.”

Z’s eyes are wider than Tennessee’s ever seen them before.

“Oh my lord,” Z says, faintly.

“Surprise,” Tennessee says, looking down. It’s really too late at this point to pretend that it’s anything other than what it is. “I went shopping.”

“You went shopping,” Z says. She’s staring, but that’s probably to be expected. Tennessee wants to adjust the harness around her hips, but it seems like a poor idea to draw more attention to the black straps.

“I did explain to you that I was very happy with your vagina,” Z points out.

“Well, sure,” Tennessee says. “But, _also_.”

“Also,” Z repeats.

“I was going to wait before showing it to you,” Tennessee says. “Practice, maybe.”

“You were going to practice using a strap-on?”

Tennessee shrugs.

“And what were you planning on doing with that monster?” Z asks.

“You dated Ryan,” Tennessee says, giving the dildo a friendly squeeze.

“Oh my lord,” Z repeats, faintly.


End file.
